


Lovers End

by bucciaratissun



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Marriage, Minor Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Threats, Yandere, toxic reader, unhinged Bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:22:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28099149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucciaratissun/pseuds/bucciaratissun
Summary: Your marriage is falling apart, and you're done trying to save it when all your spineless husband does is crying at night when he thinks you can't hear him. Little do you know how horrifying Bucky can be.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 32
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's not me, it's magnificent @navegandoaciegas and her awesome ideas! Also inspired by TDDUP!
> 
> Just in case: this story (hopefully series) doesn't involve beating or death of major characters!
> 
> P.S. I am so terribly sorry for not replying to all your comments. Please give me a little more time!

“Seriously, Bucky? Fired?” You clenched your fists, glaring at your gloomy husband furiously and thinking of throwing something heavy at him out of frustration. “This is the second time in just one month. Second fucking time! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

He said nothing, lowering his gaze to the floor: he knew well you were tired of him being unemployed for over half a year now. Since he left active duty, nothing came off like it was supposed to, and Bucky could understand why you were getting more and more impatient with him.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered under his breath, but you cared little for his constant apologies. 

“Oh, are you? Maybe if you were REALLY sorry, you’d already found a way to be useful for once, but nope, all you gonna do is go pity yourself and wait till I take care of you and bring food on the table!” Now you were yelling at him, mad with anger, your blood pressure rising and making you feel unbearably hot. “Do you know who you are, Bucky? You’re a fucking JELLYFISH! You’re boneless! All you do since you left service is pitying yourself and expecting others to pity you!”

Nervously looking up at you, the man swallowed hard; guilt was consuming him, but Bucky knew you had no idea what he had been through. You were unfair to him, he thought, yet he reminded himself it was you who had been taking care of him since the time he returned home broken and lost. Living with a crippled war vet wasn’t easy, and you were tired of his constant nightmares, fears and inability to fend for himself. 

“Please, honey.” The man whispered, shaking his head and lowering his eyes to the floor again. “Let’s stop. I’ll find another job very soon, I promise. Sam said he ha-”

“Yeah, that was what you said last time.” You interrupted him angrily, throwing a wet kitchen towel at him you used when you were cooking today, deadly tired after your night shift. “You know what? I am done with you. I am SO done with you.”

Turning away from him on the heel of your shoe, you quickly threw your dirty apron on the kitchen counter and left, stepping in the corridor with Bucky hurrying after you. No, you were done with that useless husband of yours, this failing marriage, and this miserable life you had now, forced to provide for the both of you and barely making ends meet. You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve to spend your life with someone who did nothing to help even himself, not mentioning you. You knew well Bucky had zero progress with his therapist while you worked your ass off to keep the two of you afloat. 

You were so done with all this.

“Please, honey.” He repeated again, sounded much more worried now as he followed you to your room. “You’re joking, right? I promise I’ll find another job next week! I swear I-”

“You can spend as much time looking for a job as you want.” You barked at him, opening your wardrobe and getting your suitcase out, then proceeding to throw whatever clothes you had inside it with Bucky standing right beside you, looking at all of this with horrified expression on his face. “I don’t fucking care anymore, Barnes. I’m leaving.” 

Deeply shocked, he tried reaching out to you, but you smacked his arm away, enrage your husband dared to touch you, and Bucky frowned. Of course, of the last couple of months you had many fights, but nothing was as serious as this one: it was the first time you were so angry and determined. But you couldn’t be leaving him, right? You just couldn’t be. Bucky knew you loved him dearly, going as far as being the only one he could rely one, the only family he had, the one who agreed to provide for him, somebody who only had a miserable military pension.

No, you loved him, he knew it. You wouldn’t do this to him even if he became just a shadow of a man he was once.

“Honey, you can’t possib-”

“YES I CAN. FUCK YOU!”

Frozen, Bucky stopped, his face deadly pale as you kept throwing your things in the suitcase, grabbing whatever little makeup you had left from your old vanity and almost ready to leave as you emptied your dresser, and all he could do was just stand there and stare at you, unable to believe it was happening.

He could feel the wetness gathering in the corners of his eyes. No, it couldn’t be. You loved him, didn’t you? You said so yourself when he came back home with a prosthetic instead of a flesh arm, crippled, desperate, unable to live with what he had done at war. But you still loved him. You loved him despite him being an unemployed, useless, pathetic soldier who would never become the man he had been once. 

“Please, darling.” He almost plead, his mouth quickly going dry, something caught in his throat preventing him to speak. “Don’t go. I love you. I love you so m-”

“Well, I don’t.” You cut him off immediately, pushing Bucky away from you. “I don’t love you. In fact, I HATE YOU, YOU SPINELESS PIECE OF-”

But before you could finish your sentence, you felt a cold metal arm grabbing your neck so tight you lost an ability to speak within a second, suffocating from your husband’s grip. What the fuck? What was he doing? You tried punching him, shaking with anger: Bucky was clearly out of his fucking mind! Did he think he’d make you stay like this? Did he think you wouldn’t have guts to go to the police? Oh, he was s-

Shit, you realized he was really trying to suffocate you when he didn’t budge, and you felt your throat burning, head spinning from lack of oxygen as your husband slammed you into the wall, a stony expression on his face, his pupils dilating.

Shit, shit, shit. You needed to get out of here. Trying your best to shake him off or at least make him relax his grip, but your efforts proved futile when Bucky lifted you up so only your toes could touch the floor. Did he really lost his mind? _Was he going to kill you?_

“You’re not going anywhere.” He said calmly, but you could feel the threat in his voice even when you started hearing ringing in your head. “Not now, not ever.”

Seeing stars, you soon lost consciousness, and the world around went dark. Your dear husband must have murdered you.


	2. Chapter 2

When you woke up the next day, you head hurt so much as if somebody smashed it against a wall multiple times and then cracked your skull open with a hammer. You felt terrible. In fact, you couldn’t remember when was the last time you felt so bad. It was probably when Bucky took you to an ice ring for the first time and you-

Bucky. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky. He did this to you, didn’t he? He gripped your neck and tried suffocating you with his metal arm. He went nuts when you told him you were leaving. Oh yes, now you remembered his dead eyes when he stared at you while you were chocking in the air, trying to do whatever you could to push him away, but he didn’t budge. You thought he was going to kill you.

Did he change his mind, then? It certainly didn’t look like Heaven.

Groaning, you shifted on the bed, but your body moved very slowly, and you almost ended up on the floor when you tried to stand up. God, what was it? What did that sick bastard do to you? And here you were, trying to convince yourself for months he was still your Bucky, the man you loved so much, your dear soldier who needed you to heal him and make him good again. You had to leave that creep long before this incident.

Where the hell was he? Did he leave? You couldn’t hear much from your spot.

Nah, of course, he ran away after the shit he did. He knew you’d definitely go and report him for doing this to you, so it was only natural he left before police could get to him.

Feeling groggy, your head still throbbing, you moved down the corridor to the kitchen to grab some painkillers. It was when you walked past your living room when you realized somebody was still in the house with you.

You could see Bucky’s head, his usually combed hair were now down, tangled and messy. He was watching TV when you stopped near the door, your eyes open wide at the sight of him casually resting on the couch. What the?..

“How are you feeling?” The man asked without turning to you, and you flinched, fear taking over you for a couple of seconds.

What? He didn’t leave. Why didn’t he leave? Why wasn’t he afraid you’d report him?

“How do you think, freak?” You growled at him, trying to sound angry. “You’ve almost killed me. You think I won’t head over to the police station right fucking now?”

Slowly, he turned your head towards you, and suddenly you realized it wasn’t Bucky you knew but a stranger with his face, a man whose dead eyes were sending shivers down your spine. He didn’t let out a word, but you already knew the man sitting on your couch wasn’t your husband. It was someone else. Someone you should never yell at; someone you don’t fuck with.

“Try leaving the house at least once, and I will finish the job.” He said calmly, and you felt panic rising, your heart beating twice as fast: you knew he’d do it if you didn’t obey, you just knew, somehow.

Oh shit. Bucky was gone. Completely, utterly gone.

Without a word you moved down the corridor as fast as you could, your hands trembling. What were you going to do with this psycho? You didn't know, frightened to the core by the change in Bucky's behavior. What was that? What had happened to him? Did yesterday's argument trigger him? Yeah, it definitely had something to do with Bucky's past, and you chewed your lips to bits: it wasn't something you could handle. He needed to be handed over to psychiatrist.

Sneaking to the kitchen, you ran towards an old stationary phone, something you were planning to get rid of next month. You were lucky you didn't have time to do it just yet.

... or not. You saw a black cord that Bucky cut with a knife and covered your mouth with your hand, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. He had definitely taken your mobile, too, and did something to wi-fi so you couldn't alarm anyone. Fuck, how were you supposed to get out? You knew perfectly well how much stronger Barnes was compared to you. Maybe you could yell loud enough so your neighbors would hear you, but definitely not with Bucky around. You'd have to wait for him to get out of the house - if he was ever going to leave it.

You reached out to one of the cupboards where you had an already open bottle of cheep red wine, thinking how everything had come to this. Yeah, you knew Bucky was a war vet, but you didn't remember him getting violent; actually, you didn't think he was capable of it, judging by the way he cried like a girl in his pillow at night. Apparently, you had never been so wrong in your entire life.

But he'd have to leave the house one day, right? He'd need food. Money. Besides, who was going to give him money if you suddenly stopped working?

Oh. Right. Your employer would definitely call if you didn't come to work this evening. Your colleagues. Once in a while, even your mother would give you a call!

"Wine for breakfast? That's nice."

You dropped the bottle with a loud sound, and the red liquid dirtied the wall and grey floor within a couple of seconds while you bumped against a kitchen counter, watching Bucky looking at you calmly. How did he move so quietly behind your back? Why the fuck didn't you hear anything at all?

Trembling, you clenched your fists, avoiding his gaze and staring at the floor just like he did yesterday. "My boss will call. If I am not going to answer him, he'll definitely call the police in a few days." You did your best to sound angry, but your voice was so pathetic Bucky simply chuckled at your futile attempt.

Nonchalantly walking past you and grabbing a sandwich from the fridge, he made a bite, enjoying the way you watched him like a mouse watch a snake. “I’ve already taken care of it, don’t you worry, honey.”

You were long used to pet names Bucky gave you, but now his voice was full of venom, and you winced at his words, afraid to move while wine soaked your white t-shirt: it would be a bitch to remove the stains later, but all you could think of was your completely unhinged husband and what he could do to you, so helpless and vulnerable. Were you really living side by side with a monster all this time? Could Bucky murder you if you didn’t obey him now?

“So what? What’s your plan?” You said with disdain, doing your best to hide the fear taking over you. “Kill me and go into hiding? They’ll catch you and throw you in jail, Bucky.”

“Why would I go into hiding?” He smirked, leaving the sandwich on the counter and licking his thumb clean in front of you. “If I kill you, I’m just going to hang myself and finish my pathetic life. Isn’t it what you expected me to do?”

“I have never wanted you to commit suicide!” You shouted at him, tears shining in your eyes: you couldn’t believe he thought so low of you! Yes, you loathed his constant self-pity, but you had never ever wished him to die even in your thoughts. How dare Bucky was accusing you of such thing?

“Really? Isn’t that what yesterday’s talk was all about?” Your heard something dangerous in his voice and your head had shrunk into the body immediately once Barnes made a step towards you: you ended up pressed into the dirty wall with him hovering over you, his body large enough to cover yours. “Didn’t you call me a jellyfish, darling? Didn’t you tell the only thing I do is pitying myself?”

Oh, you wanted to tell him so many things, but with Bucky’s angry face millimeters from yours you almost forgot how to breathe.

“You have no idea what I’ve seen out there, have you?” He let out a low guttural growl, and you felt a strange mix of emotions: you were equally frightened, mad, and aroused at the same time, clenching his arm that he put on the collar of your t-shirt.

“You aren’t the only one who came back.” You snapped, regretting it almost immediately as you saw Bucky’s expression changing but too stubborn to stop yourself now. “Yet they manage to live somehow!”

“Wanna know how I live now?” The man snarled, his knee in between your thighs as he pushed you further into the wall. “You know why I cry at night? Because every fucking night I am back at the battlefield. I’m dazed and hurt, but I need to reach the house in front of me because civilians are trapped there. I run as if my life depends on it, but when I open the door of the house, all I see there are mutilated corpses on the floor.”

His breath was burning your skin when he got so impossibly close as if Bucky was preparing to bite off a part of your face. You froze on the spot, forgetting how to breathe.

“There are three dead kids laying there and their mother with her brains out. The carpet beneath them is soaked in their blood. And I do is just stand there and look at faces of those kids knowing I could be there to take them away. I could, if only I were a little faster. Every night, every fucking night I stand there and think that if I wasn’t a coward who stayed too long in the hideout, these kids could now be going to school.”


	3. Chapter 3

You didn’t know what to say, staying still and looking into Bucky’s cold blue eyes. He had never talked about war with you - or anyone else, actually, except his therapist - but you thought you had an idea what was happening there. 

Apparently, you didn’t.

For some reason, you had always thought of Bucky as the bravest man alive since he was the only one who didn’t chicken out once they sent him to the hot spot. You had never imagined him hiding while his mission was saving civilians. leaving those people, unarmed and defenseless, to die. How many had died because your husband just wasn’t strong enough? 

No wonder he was seeing nightmares even after all this time, you thought and looked at his face, his expression dark, brows furrowed. You could see the deep regret on his face, and for a second, you realized you were pitying him. How scared he must have been to forget about his duty, how hurt and lost he was, hiding somewhere and thinking about nothing but escaping that hell of a place. He didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t the one who started that stupid war.

Suddenly, you felt something touching your leg, and you raised your eyebrows at Bucky: he was getting a boner? Now, of all times? But before you had a chance to say something, he quickly took a step back and left the kitchen without a word, leaving you all alone with a shattered bottle of wine on the floor.

Letting out a loud sigh, you tugged on the roots of your hair in frustration.

“Clean up and make something for lunch.” His voice sounded rude, but now you could tell he absolutely did it on purpose.

You had no idea what was inside that brain of his.

________________________

There wasn’t much in the fridge since you almost ran out of food and was planning to go to the grocery store before that talk, but it wasn’t time to discuss it with your unhinged husband now: you preferred not seeing him at all rather than have casual conversations and pretend nothing had happened. In fact, after finishing crepe and leaving Bucky a fair share - yes, it was lunch time, but with your miserable supplies it was the only decent thing to make - you quickly moved to your shared bedroom as Bucky stayed on the couch, watching TV.

What now? The silent treatment he gave you when you said lunch was ready made you understand he wasn’t going to go easy on you. You were still trapped in the house with a psycho thinking of murdering you.

Would he really try to kill you again and then hang himself just like he said? You tried not thinking of it.

Landing on your bed, you rubbed your eyes tiredly, hugging your pillow and wondering how did it come to this. You loved him once, didn't you? Maybe a part of you loved him still, despite all the things he had done and said. Were you really becoming like all those crazy couples they showed in the news? It was hard to believe, but it was true.

The comfort of your bed made you feel sleepy again, though you woke up barely an hour and a half ago. Apparently, that was the heavy toll of your constant night shifts you had to take: they were paid better than the day ones, so you jumped in when the opportunity had presented itself.

Despite almost falling asleep, you felt your legs aching and had to get up, knowing if you didn't treat them right now, they would keep you awake for hours - it was the benefit of almost constant standing behind the cashier.

God, what a miserable life you were having.

"What do you need here?" Bucky asked you, creeping behind your back as you jumped, quickly closing the bathroom counter where you kept all the pills and ointments. Was he following you again?

Oh, apparently, he thought you were on the verge of committing suicide, too.

_No fucking chance in Hell, Barnes._

"Guess." You grunted, showing him a big blue jar of ice cold pain relief gel and proceeding back to bedroom, leaving your slippers near the bed and starting to rub the gel on your feet, sighing and closing your eyes when you felt your toes cooling. Out of all little things the life was giving you, this was probably the most precious one.

"Your feet hurt?"

You couldn't believe he was still here with you, and you gave him a dry laugh, refusing to look your husband into the eyes. Sure, recovering from war wasn't easy, but paying so little attention to his wife he didn't even know you had been having these terrible pains for months was something else.

Well, maybe it was your fault, too, since most of the time you tried using the gel either while you were working or, if you were doing it at home, you tried your best not showing it to Bucky so he would't be worried about you. Funny, but even after you stopped doing that and started applying the gel whenever you felt hurt, he still didn't see anything.

"I have been working 12 hour shifts in the store where I stand most of the time. So yeah, my feet hurt a little." The sarcasm was oozing from your tongue, but you were too tired to even talk, suddenly feeling the heavy toll of all those countless hours in the store and wanting nothing but to finally lay down and sleep a little, forgetting about your aching legs and neck - now there were definitely ugly dark marks on your skin from Bucky's grip. "Just leave me alone."

Putting the lid back on the jar with gel, you curled in a ball on your bed, covering yourself with a blanket. You didn’t see or hear Bucky leaving, but you were so exhausted you couldn't care less about him now.

_____________

When you woke up the next morning, he wasn't sleeping in the bed with you, and for a second you thought he might have actually left you for good. Strangely, the thought wasn't as satisfying to you as you thought it would be.

Groaning, you stood up: sleeping so much was as bad as not sleeping at all, and your body was aching as if you'd been carrying bags of potato the whole night. God, life was hard.

As you gradually woke up, the memories of yesterday flooded your head: the war, dead children, Bucky, the stains of wine on the floor and your t-shirt... Rubbing your forehead, you let out a loud sigh. Welcome to one more day in Hell.

Funny, but though Bucky was in the guest room on that very same couch again, he didn't say a word to you, so you ended up going to the kitchen right after you finished showering. It felt like being stuck in a limbo, but you were okay with it as long as your ax-crazy husband didn't pull the trigger or suffocated you. Anything was better than dying, even your utterly pathetic life, you thought while putting a few loaves of bread in the old toaster that always fried them too much to your liking.

When you finished eating and washed the dishes, you moved back to bedroom and sat on the bed, staring at the blank wall. Why wasn't Bucky leaving? You wouldn't last long like this, with no job and no money. Besides, if he hated you so much he was willing to kill you himself, why didn't he just... go? What was the reason? If you promised you weren't going to report him, would he leave? You weren't sure, thinking of his dead eyes as if it wasn't really Bucky. Was he really attached to you that much?

_Were you?_

Enough of this, you thought and went to your suitcase that was still open and full of your things, digging inside and taking out an album and an old pack of crayons. You were fond of drawing once when you still had time for hobbies. Huh, you were even good at it, you realized when you saw a landscape you draw when Bucky and you took a drive outside of the town some time ago. Then there was your own house, old but charming, with small garden that was pretty once, white gardenia blooming here and there, an apple tree on your backyard that was giving the sweetest apples you had ever tried... It all seemed so distant now as if it was a dream, something that didn't exist beyond your imagination.

Then there was a portrait of Bucky, too. You remembered you loved drawing him even before he became a soldier and was just that funny delivery boy on a motorcycle. He was so pretty with those crystal blue eyes of his and that charming smile. On that portrait he looked young, his hair short and messy, his expression cheerful and somewhat cunning. He was the man you fell in love once.

Feeling tears streaming down your cheeks, you sobbed and turned the sheet, staring at the drawing of gardenia and seeing nothing but your beloved husband kissing your lips and cheeks when you said yes to him that night.

When you started to draw again, there was nothing pretty on the sheet - just your bedroom with someone laying on the bed, a couple of nightstands, a half empty drawer and a suitcase with piles of clothes inside. It looked dull, and you sighed, forcing a smile: your life was dull. Nothing felt right. Bucky changed, true, but you changed too, and you didn't like who you were becoming. Why did you take so many shifts in the first place? Because you wanted to give him time to heal. All of a sudden, you remembered how concerned you were, watching your husband stare at the wall for minutes, neither moving nor talking. You were so worried you were going with him to his therapist to have a chance to talk to her after his session was over, writing down all the smallest details she was giving you not to miss a thing. You cared so much. You really, really loved him.

Once you finished the drawing, you laughed, seeing that you unconsciously draw some dark shadows, something like black opaque clouds lingering in the corners of your bedroom. This what it felt like now, living in a prison with scary shades following you instead of a lovely, charming home you had always been proud of. _Guess you deserved it._


	4. Chapter 4

The next day started like the one before, too, and you chuckled darkly at the thought you really lived in a limbo, able to neither escape nor finish all this. Maybe you had been already dead, and you really were in Hell for all the things you had done. This definitely looked more realistic to you.

"Make me breakfast." Your husband said once you came in the kitchen, and you laughed, opening the fridge and knowing it was completely empty, mind an old pack of butter.

"With what? Piece of butter?" You asked him, eyeing him simply because you didn't like him standing behind your back anymore and then looking into the fridge, finally. "Whoa... what is this?"

The fridge was full: you saw a two packs of bacon, each one at least half a kilo, a wheel of brie and a huge piece of ham in a bright plastic package, a large jar of Greek yogurt, sour creme, German wieners, carrot sticks, packed Cesar salade... Was there a pack of shrimps at the back of the fridge, too?.. They all were the things you'd never buy because they were hella expensive for you now. Shit, you had long forgotten how your favorite cheese tasted like!

"Bucky, where have you taken all this?" You muttered, your mouth getting full of saliva from just a thought you could it all the things in your fridge now. "God, did you buy Apple Smoked Bacon? You should have at least taken Sally's, it's three times cheaper! Oh my goodness, everything here is so expensive... Bucky, where did you get all this?"

"In the store, where else." He grunted, but you could hear satisfaction in his voice: he felt proud.

As you looked at him casually sitting on the wooden kitchen chair behind you, you rubbed your forehead, unable to get this thought out of your mind: how come he was able to pay for all this? You didn't have so much money with you since you were about to get your paycheck only next week. Did he take money from his savings? But he had to go to the bank for that, and he didn't sneak out of the house yesterday, that's for sure.

"Bucky, where did you take the money?" You demanded him, scared he stole either the money or the food. "Bucky, did you steal from someone?"

He rolled his eyes at you. "Are you out of your mind? Of course I didn't."

"Then where-"

"It's not your damn business, alright? Just do something with this food already."

The tone of his voice told you it was better to keep your thoughts to yourself, and you quietly turned back to the fridge, taking out a pack of bacon and three eggs: despite the fact that there were two dozens of them, you didn't want to spend too much. Only God knew when you'd be able to afford food again.

Soon the delicious smell of fried bacon filled the kitchen, and you barely held yourself from eating from the pan, Bucky tapping on the floor nervously: you couldn't remember the last time when you were having something like that for breakfast, usually ending up with toasts and scrambled eggs at best. All your thoughts were now about eating, and the moment you put plates on the tables both Bucky and you were digging in immediately, your mouth full with crispy bacon. Huh, funny how these things could make you happy, you thought. When you were younger, living with your wealthy mother, you could eat whatever and as much as you wanted, not even thinking that one day you could kill for a fridge stuffed with food. Really, how funny the thought seemed to you now.

Realizing you were crying, you gulped down the food and quickly wiped off the tears from your face, but Bucky still saw you and froze on his spot. The expression on his face made you turn away from him and keep rubbing your eyes.

"It's just terribly salty." You grunted through tears, still stuffing your mouth with those damn bacon and eggs. "Buy Sally's next time."

The one that tasted like plastic but was three times cheaper than this.

Before the man said something, you quickly threw your plate into the sink and ran to the bedroom not make even bigger fool of yourself in front of your husband. "Please wash the dishes," that was all you managed to say to him before disappearing beneath the blanket, savoring the taste of the food in your mouth and refusing to think of it anymore.

_________________

You spent some time drawing in your bedroom, making sketches of the empty skincare jars and bottles that you were supposed to throw away a long time ago, but you didn't, for some reason. Looking at the uneven shapes on the sheet, you sighed: getting the skill back wasn't easy, but you just needed to practice more. Now you had all the time you needed for that.

After the sounds from the kitchen stopped, you thought Bucky had returned to the guest room, again, watching football or whatever was on TV now. You remembered spending your days off in front of TV with him because there was nothing else you had strength for. Actually, now you couldn't even think of the shows or movies you had been watching, that’s how tired you were.

Of course, the house wasn't getting any better with you constantly absent and Bucky barely able to vacuum, dust balls gathering in the corners of the room. You didn’t even want to think about all those dirty windows and time you'd have to spend cleaning them. Well, it still had to be done some day, so you just pulled yourself together and got up feeling dizzy and tired, again.

Soon you were vacuuming, deciding to start from the bedroom just because you didn’t want to face Bucky again and share the uncomfortable silence. Left corner, vacuum along the wall, then closet, then near nightstand, then beneath your bed... Feeling you pushed something from beneath the bed, you groaned: you asked him so many times not to put anything in there and store it in the dresser or nightstand, but old habits die hard, you thought as you came closer and gazed at whatever your husband left on the floor.

It looked like a classic hardcover notebook in fancy blue color, a black star imprinted on its cover. You certainly didn’t remember buying anything like that. Was it some book he was reading? But there was no name on it.

Forgetting about your noisy vacuum, you sat on the bed and opened the notebook. “Property of James Buchanan Barnes”. Funny, you thought, jumping to the next page and feeling absolutely no shame as you were digging in his personal diary or something very close to it.

“1st of July. Doctor Romanova advised me to get a notebook and write about my day. Nothing happened except my visit to her.”

Interesting. So, it was really his diary. Despite a voice in your head telling you to leave the notebook alone, you started reading the next page.

“2nd of July. Honey made an apple pie. Tastes like my mom’s.”

You didn’t remember him saying this to you, but it was so long ago you might have simply forgotten. You’d be grateful to him Bucky if he considered complimenting your food once in a while.

“3rd of July. The same nightmare, couldn’t sleep the rest of the night. Wait for a stroll before sunrise, but she got scared when I wasn’t there.”

“4th of July. Nothing had happened.”

“5th of July. Nothing had happened.”

You rubbed the bridge of your nose tiredly: what were you expecting from him? Bucky couldn’t write anything decent even before joining military, and his love letters would be boring if not his funny drawings beyond the margins.

“10th of July. Cried at night and woke her up. Felt guilty, but she calmed me down and brought some food. I’m ashamed.”

“11th of July. Visited doctor Romanova again, don’t like the pills she’s giving me. Feel tired.”

“12th of July. Don’t want to take pills, but I have to. She took me to the village for a day; we had a picnic, and then she was drawing. I love her.”

Huh. Apparently, once he had loved you, too, but you had long forgotten about that, sincerely thinking he was staying with you out of convenience. Wait, what if he had planned this? What if he had planned for you to find this notebook and read it?

Nah. Anyone but him. It was too much out of character.

“13th of July. She was late for work but cooked me breakfast, anyway. My wife is a good person.”

“14th of July. Tried cooking for her, but burned the eggs. She’s laughing. Have been taking too much pills lately and always feel dull.”

Yeah, doctor Romanova did prescribe him tons of pills, but you knew all soldiers like Bucky were taking them, so you had never protested against it. Maybe it was better to ask Sam.

Tired of reading this, you opened the notebook in the middle and saw pages that were full of text compared to the empty sheets in the very beginning.

“5th of November. Hate my job. Pierce is talking about harassing female customers and I want to punch him in the face, but no one else is willing to give me a job. Better to keep my mouth shut. P.S. I love my wife. I know her job isn’t better, but she is never complaining, and I shouldn’t, too.”

“6th of November. After she brought me lunch I beat Rumlow for talking shit about her. Pierce fired me, but I’m lucky Rumlow is too proud to go to police and report me. I didn’t tell her, gonna go searching for another job.”

“17th of November. Stopped taking pills because everyone says I look like a retard.”

“18th of November. Saw that nightmare again, but I got a job at the restaurant. Hope it’s gonna be better.”

“19th of November. I like this place, always smells nice, my manager seems kind. Today told honey about changing a job. Love her.”

You skipped a few pages again, already knowing he had slept over for a few times and got fired from that place, apparently, because he was seeing nightmares. Shit, you had no idea he stopped taking pills so long ago: doctor Romanova was constantly supplying you with them, and you really thought Bucky had been taking them every day as prescribed. You guessed he just flushed them down the toilet, and the thought made you angry.

“14th of December. She doesn’t speak to me, but I don’t know why.”

Quickly, you turned the next page. You had erased 14th of December out of your memory and wasn’t going to return to it even with a gun to your head. Thinking of sickly sweet smell of chocolate cupcakes and stale air in the back room, you almost vomited and immediately looked at the notebook, again.

“17th of December. I don’t know if she loves me. I love her. I always will. But I want her to be with me because if she leaves there would be nothing left of Bucky from before. I don’t want it. I want her.”

“18th December. She doesn’t let me touch her. She doesn’t love me. She doesn’t love me. Shedoesntlovemeshedoesntlovemeshed-”

You closed the book at the sound of Bucky’s footsteps and threw it beneath the bed, jumping to your feet and continuing to vacuum. Your head was aching and eyes were wet, but you pretended it was all from the heat as if you were sweating. By the blank expression on his face you understood Bucky wasn’t suspicious, and you exhaled loudly, keeping your head low so he wouldn’t see your eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Once you finished with the vacuum, you locked yourself in the bathroom with Bucky’s diary in your hands - it was the only place where you could bolt the door. Besides, he could hardly hear you crying from there.

His writing was becoming more and more chaotic: soon he had stopped keeping the dates, and all of it became some kind of never-ending essay about things he hated and feared. You could his mental health deteriorating with every page, and God, you were scared of him - and you pitied him, too. Sometimes you could spot your own name, and you cried when you read how much Bucky loved you. His feelings were gradually evolving into some kind of unhealthy obsession, but you were thankful they didn’t turn into intense hatred, considering the way you treated him up until now.

Reading about you tormenting your husband was something entirely different if you compared it with your own memories - or a lack of those - but the more you read, the more horrified with your actions you became. How did it happen? When did you turn from a supporting wife into a cruel fury ready to tear apart the only person you loved? When did you reach the point of no return? You supposed it could have been that day in December, but Bucky wasn't at fault. Not directly, at least, you thought when you considered his negligence and you working like a horse.

Maybe that terrible thing was just destined to happen to you, anyway.

Regardless, that was no the reason to treat Bucky like that. You could have left a long time ago, realizing where all this had been going, and it would still be better than living how you two lived now. Now you could see the true horror of the situation and what would inevitably happen if you didn't do anything to end it: Bucky could pull the trigger any moment now.

The only option you saw was leaving. Of course, in an ideal world you could ask him to visit doctor Romanova and make him confess he wasn't really following her instructions, help him get back on track and try to recover, but you knew this wasn't going to happen. Not when Bucky had almost suffocated you and locked you in the house. Why would he listen to you now, after everything that happened between you? He'd rather think you are doing this just to get rid of him, so you doubted he'd do what you asked him to. Now there were two ways out - leave or die.

You prefered the first one even knowing Bucky was obsessed with you. You could at least try, couldn't you? In the end, you would finish with a bullet in your head if you did nothing at all to fix all this.

You still couldn't believe it was happening to you. Weren't you a really, really good couple before? You remembered your ex-coworkers envying you when Bucky was visiting the office, a bouquet of wild flowers in his hands. He had always been kind and understanding, gentle, loving, cheerful; the best husband you had ever wanted, that very same prince you had been dreaming about. You loved him to the point of leaving your mother, the only family you had, just because you wanted to be with him. Because of that you were desinherited, but you didn't care as long as Bucky was with you.

Huh, all of a sudden you remembered the times when he was in the hot spot while you waited for him at home, every day waking up with a thought somebody would call and tell you Bucky's dead. It was your worst nightmare because of which you were afraid to go to sleep every night. You prayed for him to return safely, and the day when you received a notice of him losing his left arm, you were hysterical to the point your boss had to send you to the hospital to get help.

Oh, how happy you were the day he came back. Crippled, lost, desperate, barely able to function because of his PTSD but alive. You wanted nothing as much but for your husband to come home to you. That's why, even though the company you worked for went bankrupt and you could find nothing better but being a cashier in a local food store, you were ready to do whatever it took to help Bucky get back on his feet.

Was it too much for you? Were you too weak to go through all this for him? Apparently, you were. With months of constant hard work, insomnia because of the constant night shifts, inability to put food on the table, you forgot why were you doing all this. You forgot how much you loved him and he loved you. It all turned to ashes.

Hiding the diary beneath your bed, you did your best to wipe the tears and make yourself a bit more presentable - now you saw how terrible you looked with those dark circles beneath your eyes and wrinkles, bad skin, prominent blood vessels along the inside of your eyes because constant crying... You were a young woman, still, but you felt like your body was falling to pieces. It couldn't continue like that.

"Bucky, I have to leave." You told him once you approached your husband in the living room still sitting on the couch in front of TV with a blank expression.

However, once he heard you, his face clenched up, "Did you not hear me the first time I said it? You’re going nowhere."

Trembling, you tried to pull yourself together and even sat on the couch, your palms on your knees.

"Bucky, we're not alright. Let's admit it. Things aren't going to come back to how they were before... this. We won't get better."

You swallowed nervously, not looking at him, but Bucky fell silent, waiting for you to continue. You were sure he wasn't insane to the point he didn't understand what was happening.

"Please, let me leave. You can have the house if you want to, I won't take anything. I... I'll be sending you half of my salary until you get yourself a job."

Huh, you probably wouldn't be able to rent your own place with what was left, but maybe you convince your boss to let you sleep in the back room. Hell, even sleeping under the bridge was better than being murdered by your own husband.

When you saw him crawling towards you, you held your breath, "T-this is fair! You can have whatever you want!"

But he didn't stop, and before you could jump off the couch and ran, Bucky was already on top of you, his metal hand grabbing both yours and pining them above your head.

"I want you." He shook his head, sitting on top of you, his flesh arm caressing the curves of your body. "Maybe you're right and we can't go back. But we can do better."

"Get off, Bucky!" You desperately tried pushing him away, but all you did was fueling his desire. "GET OFF!"

"Maybe you'll love me again if I put a baby in you." He exhaled, nuzzling against the crook of your neck, and you frozen in fear and disgust, you eyes wet again despite all your efforts. "And we'll be a real family again."

"NO!"

You didn't know where that power to throw your beefy husband off you came, but you were already up, back on your unsteady legs and ready to fight him even he was going to try suffocating you or breaking your neck. You weren't going to let Bucky do... this to you.

Oh God. You wanted to never let him know of what had happened on the 14th of December, but you had no choice now.

"I've already lost my baby. I'm not doing it again."


End file.
